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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087547">Oblivion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinnWritess/pseuds/FinnWritess'>FinnWritess</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Boys Kissing, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, Kissing, M/M, Memory Loss, Plot, Romance, Some Plot, haha funny joke guys im hilarious, it's kind of there but also kind of not okay, kind of, no beta we die like schlatt, tagging this fic is rlly hard wtf, tho its implied they were already romantically involved earlier, to some degree</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:41:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087547</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinnWritess/pseuds/FinnWritess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“People can be the worst monsters of all.”</p><p> </p><p>Schlatt lifts his gaze, letting it settle onto Wilbur as he walks away. “Am I a monster?”</p><p> </p><p>Quackity hesitates for a moment. “No.”</p><p>-OR-</p><p>Schlatt can't remember anything, least of all why half the nation despises him. So, he sets about trying to work out what he did that was so terrible.</p><p>AU where on a third death, it's possible to simply get an almost-total memory wipe instead of death.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>197</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Oblivion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>IDK IF Y'ALL FOLLOW MY TWITTER BUT I VAGUELY MENTIONED ALTERNATING WORK ON LORH AND SOMETHING ELSE,,, THIS WAS THE SOMETHING ELSE!!! ENJOY WHILE I RUN BACK TO FINISH LORH</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The man before him stares, shock and hurt mixed into his expression, a diamond axe clutched loosely in one hand. Schlatt hasn’t the faintest clue why, not when they’ve never even met before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re supposed to be dead.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt’s bewildered by this statement, but brushes it off. “JSchlatt, but most people call me Schlatt. And you are?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other man’s axe clatters to the ground. “You don’t remember me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt frowns. “Am I supposed to?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A choked sob comes from the man before he offers Schlatt a weak, shaky, so clearly fake smile. “I’m Quackity.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I live not far from here,” Schlatt says, an effort to keep up the conversation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s an unnerving edge to Quackity’s tone that borders on melancholy. Suddenly, Schlatt doesn’t really want to talk to him anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well…” Schlatt trails off awkwardly. “Nice meeting you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An edge of desperation creeps into Quackity’s expression. “Wait, I-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt gives him a moment, but he says nothing more. There’s a look in his eyes that tells Schlatt he has a million things to say, his lips parted just slightly like he wants to speak, but just can’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice meeting you,” Quackity settles on finally. “Again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt doesn’t comment on the final bit of that, just offering him a smile. “I’ll see you around?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Quackity says. “I’ll see you around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt turns to walk back to his house, trying to shake the odd encounter as he crosses the grassy fields. He’s not sure why Quackity acted like they should know each other, and he’s not sure he wants to find out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>**********</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The chests in Schlatt’s house are full of materials, and only half of them he remembers gathering. Still, he’s got himself set up with some tools and armour by the time Quackity marches in unannounced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’d be best to keep away from everyone. Especially Tommy, Wilbur and Tubbo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who?” Schlatt pulls on a diamond helmet. “And why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity stares. “You never used to wear armour.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Schlatt’s voice comes out harsher than he means for it to. Quackity’s gaze drops, breaking eye contact.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy and Tubbo are unmistakable. Tall blond haired kid and a shorter brown haired one. As for Wilbur, well… He’ll probably avoid you anyway, so don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt doesn’t try to ask why. He knows he won’t get an answer. “... Thanks?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And here.” Quackity hands him an axe; on closer inspection, Schlatt realises it’s Netherite. “You’ll need it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you doing this for me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As expected, Quackity doesn’t answer him. He just drops his gaze and mumbles, “Stay safe, alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he’s gone, whisked away out the door, leaving Schlatt alone again. The axe weighs heavy in his palm, and he can do nothing but stare at it. Netherite isn’t easy to find, so why is someone he barely knows giving it to him? He’s not sure he wants to know the answer to that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sets the axe down into a chest and takes up a diamond one instead. No need to get it all chipped and scratched right away, not when he’s just around the established nation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Part of him wonders if he’ll ever get it back out at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>********</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a week before Schlatt encounters anyone other than Quackity. He’s walking through the nation, headed for what he hopes is a decent cave, when he half-walks right into someone, their shoulders bumping together painfully. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry!” Schlatt says as he turns. The tall brunette across from him has an almost unreadable expression for a few moments; then hatred, plain and simple, creeps into his gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should have stayed dead.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt stares at him. “What in hell do you mean by that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man’s eyes narrow. “Go back to the grave you crawled out of, or at the very least stay the fuck away from me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt’s barely blinked and Quackity’s slid in between them, glaring at the unfamiliar man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Back off, Soot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He shouldn’t be alive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Quackity sounds pained. “He won’t bother you again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man sniffs, casts Schlatt a final hate filled look, and leaves. Quackity turns to Schlatt, expression unreadable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I told you to stay away from him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even know who the fuck he is!” Schlatt groans. “Nothing makes sense.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity’s gaze hardens, but his voice is gentle when he speaks again. “That was Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt grips his axe slightly tighter. “I don’t even know why he hates me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity doesn’t seem to listen. “Where’s the axe I gave you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need it here,” Schatt says. “There’s almost no danger. No point getting it all scratched up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here is </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>where you need it.” Quackity grabs Schlatt’s axe right from his grasp, and presses it firmly to Schlatt’s chest. “People can be the worst monsters of all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt lifts his gaze, letting it settle onto Wilbur as he walks away. “Am I a monster?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity hesitates for a moment. “No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt looks down at the slightly chipped, sharp edge of his diamond axe. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel like he should be trusted with a weapon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And what if I become one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity’s gaze is steady. “I don’t think you will, but if you do… I won’t hesitate to put my sword through your chest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>********</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt’s not sure how they got here. One minute they were talking, the next, he’s looming over a shirtless Quackity, leaning down to catch his lips in another kiss. As he draws back, he takes it in for a moment, the man under him flushed a beautiful shade of crimson. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt smirks, then leans down to mouth at Quackity’s neck, alternating between soft kisses and harsh bites. The room is mostly silent aside from their slightly laboured breathing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Quackity’s pushing him off. There’s tears in his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Schlatt asks, tilting his head slightly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not him,” Quackity says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not anymore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then it finally clicks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Third death.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity nods, swallowing harshly. “Third death.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt only takes a moment to think about it. “I’m not whoever I used to be. Same face, different person. Think of me as a lookalike.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity’s eyes bore into his. “A lookalike.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A lookalike,” Schlatt confirms. Quackity takes in a breath, then drags him down into a filthy kiss that leaves him light-headed. The bedsheets rumple beneath them as they finally let themselves get lost in each other, if only for a short while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>********</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did something, right? To make everyone hate me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Multiple somethings,” Quackity says with a humourless laugh. Sunlight filters softly into the room, warming Schlatt’s bare back and framing Quackity’s face in a gentle light. The bed is warm, and their clothes lay rumbled and discarded all around the room from the night before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It should be a peaceful scene. It’s not. The knowledge that he was someone else, has a past he can’t remember, weighs heavy over Schlatt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So why didn’t you stop me? Just kill me and save everyone the suffering?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hesitated.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt exhales slowly. “You shouldn’t have.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity’s gaze bores into his. “I couldn’t kill you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt brings up a hand to carefully cup Quackity’s face. “Don’t hesitate next time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>**********</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt wasn’t one for libraries, most of the time, but he was praying something in here would tell him of the not too long ago history. Just some hint of what he did, some grasp at understanding. There’s so many bookshelves, covering the walls, sectioned into neat little aisles categorised by genre and author and fact and fiction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He picks up a book at random. It’s thick and heavy in his hands, bound with leather and hand stitched. It seems old, the pages browning and tattered, but something compels him to open it anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s writings in a language Schlatt can’t even try to understand, and an ink sketch of something resembling an Endermen. His eyes flick over the pages, scanning for any readable information. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s only one paragraph. It speaks about a person’s third death, and peaks his interest immediately. He reads it through carefully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A third death is unpredictable. Sometimes, death. Often, total memory loss. In this case, there is a way to restore it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It doesn’t come without danger. The person must successfully steal an Enderdragon egg and return to the Overworld with it. Of course, this mission has led to many deaths-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt stops reading. He needs no warnings on the dangers. He may have lost most memories, but he still knows enough about the world to recall how deadly the End can be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve found one of the older texts, I see.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt lifts his head. It’s someone he still hasn’t met- </span>
  <em>
    <span>re-</span>
  </em>
  <span>met- yet. “I’m looking for answers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The odd hybrid before him smiles slightly. “Ah. You look as though you’ve found them, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt nods. “I think I did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Technoblade,” the hybrid offers. “I’m not a fan of the things you did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what I did,” Schlatt says slowly, “But from what I can tell, I don’t think I’m a fan of them either.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade’s lips quirk up into a small smile. “I was not expectin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>from you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt grins, and shuts the book he’s holding, then slides it back into place on the shelf. “Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade’s gaze lingers on him for a moment before he turns away. “Not everyone is goin’ to forgive you. Most won’t, actually.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Schlatt doesn’t watch him leave. He just waits until he’s all alone, surrounded by musty old books packed with knowledge he’ll never read. Deafening quiet settles over him with a lasting finality as he realises exactly what his next move is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*********</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t have to,” Schlatt replies, gaze fixed on the swirling End portal before him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity sighs heavily. “You have the axe I gave you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Said axe is gripped loosely in Schlatt’s palm, plain and obvious, but he knows Quackity’s stalling. “Yes. Let me check I’ve got everything else, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he’s stalling as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Schlatt?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” He pauses checking how many arrows he has to meet Quackity’s gaze. Much like the day they’d re-met, the other man looks like he has so much to say. Instead, he settles on three words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t die, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt grins. “I’ll try my best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*********</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The End is truly a beautiful place; there’s cities and structures older than time itself, and a Void always singing sweet melodies back at you. However, it’s difficult to slow down and appreciate it when you’re running from the mother of all dragons. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt’s got an egg in his grasp; it’s big, and heavy, and obsidian-black with purple flecks. Flames leap for his back, for his feet, and he doesn’t dare stop running. His lungs burn, aching for air that he can’t seem to draw in fast enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He skids to a halt right by the edge of the End portal. It swirls beneath him, filled with a thousand different cosmos of stars. He sucks in a heavy breath, and the dragon behind him roars.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt doesn’t have time to wonder if he really wants his memory back, not with the mother of all hell and monsters on his tail. He clutches the black and purple egg tighter, and steps into the portal. There’s heat behind him as the world warps and twists, and then he’s being spat out into the cold, cruel dungeon of the Stronghold. He drops the egg, which thankfully doesn’t crack, falling to his hands and knees as memory after memory races back into his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Schlatt?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lifts his head; Quackity’s kneeling down in front of him, concern written all over his features. Schlatt raises a hand to shakily cup his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Quackity.” He breathes the name out like a prayer, and closes the space between them with some desperation. Neither of them can breathe properly, and Schlatt’s gripping Quackity’s shoulder hard enough to bruise, but neither of them can seem to care. Schlatt can do nothing more than try and press all his feelings into the kiss, to attempt to convey how sorry he is for so many things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They break apart, but still cling to each other. There’s wonder and relief in Quackity’s gaze as it flicks over Schlatt’s face in rapid succession, like he’s trying to commit his face to memory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Schlatt says after a moment, his voice barely above a murmur. “For everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity laughs, but there’s a broken edge to it that makes Schlatt realise he’s crying. “At least you’re here to be sorry for it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt wipes his thumb gently over Quackity’s cheek, swiping away a stray tear that fell there. “I’ll try to keep it that way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You better,” Quackity says, but his lips curl into a small smile as he speaks. Schlatt’s chest aches a little as he thinks of all Quackity’s had to deal with up until this point, and wishes he could just kiss him until all their problems are gone, but he’s not naive enough to think everything is fixed now. It’ll be a long time before they’re on even ground again, after they talk things out and Schlatt can show he’s not the same person he once was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right now, though, there’s only one thing he can do, so he does it. He leans in again to capture Quackity’s lips with his own in a gentle kiss. The portal hums softly from behind them, and Quackity tangles his fingers so lightly, so lovingly, in Schlatt’s hair. For a moment, everything falls away, and it’s just them, together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Quackity draws back. “We should find a place for that,” he says, gesturing to the dragon egg. Schlatt stares at it for a long moment, at the object he’d risked his life for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Probably,” he responds with a hint of nonchalance. “Let’s just pray it doesn’t hatch. A dragon in the Overworld would be a fuckin’ nightmare.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity laughs. “It’s good to have you back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt smiles at him ever so softly before getting to his feet. The Stronghold air is chillier the moment he does, and everything is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>damp</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he’s surprisingly not determined to rush out. This is the first place in the Overworld where he’s treaded with his memory restored. And the first person he saw was Quackity; clearly, there’s some kind of poetry here Schlatt isn’t versed enough to understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me take it,” Quackity says, slipping past him to pick up the egg. Schlatt lets out a breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Quackity.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s so much he wants to say. Too much. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity smiles softly at him. “I’d do anything for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt knows he means it; can see it in his eyes and hear it in his tone. After all the shit he’s put Quackity through, he’s still willing to stand by Schlatt’s side. It’s almost enough to bring him to tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two start to make their way out of the Stronghold, mindful of the dampness of the entire place. And if Schlatt’s hand drifts to Quackity’s back to help guide him, neither of them mention it, simply continuing on their way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just two men, a stolen dragon’s egg, and too much history behind them to ever try and recount.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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